


280 - All the Colours of the Rainbow

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original non-requested fic about: all the colours of the rainbow. And Van McCann.





	280 - All the Colours of the Rainbow

Red. Not peach. Not blush. Not pink. All the blood had rushed to your cheeks immediately after you let out a weird laughing yelp sound, turning them bright red. You couldn’t help it though; the punchline was good. And, the guy at the next table over had delivered it with such conviction.

“Because it was soda pressing!”

Your latte sucked back down the wrong way and you felt it in your nose. The guy looked at you when you made the sound and he watched you hold the milk in, then awkwardly replace your hand with a napkin. He grinned, then said into the phone, “Told ya it was a good one. I gotta go, though. Somethin’ has just come up… Yeah… Cool… See ya, Larry." 

He was at the table alone and you’d been listening to his conversation. Up until that point, you’d done so very covertly. Nobody in the café would have noticed you noticing him at all. 

The guy leaned over his chair to address you. "Ya drink. That’s what’s come up,”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” you mumbled, wiping the last of milk away. Your cheeks hurt from the red.

“People don’t normally laugh at my jokes,”

“Did you write that one?” you asked impressed.

“Oh. No. Read it somewhere. I do write though. I’m in a band,” the guy said proudly. He stood up and relocated to the vacant chair across from you, bringing his tea with him. “Were you listening to my entire phone call?” His voice sounded curious rather than accusatory.

“Um… Nn… May…” you started, rolling through syllables until something felt right. “Yeahhh… I guess. I’m sorry,”

“Nah, you’re right, love. So, what’s ya name?” he asked.

“Y/N,”

“Y/N… Well, I like how hard ya blushing, Y/N. Can I tell you another one then? Keep this thing going?”

That’s how you met Van. Bright red.

…

Orange was by no means Van’s favourite fruit or flavour. He liked banana and chocolate for the most part. However, what he liked most in the world was to feel loved. He’d been raised bathed in it, so it was naturally the language he spoke and the air he breathed. So, when you arrived at his house for your third date with a homemade orange and honey cake, he was ecstatic.

“You made this? From scratch?!” he almost-squealed. Nodding, you felt the validation you were hoping for. “Fuck, honey bear. Ain’t you just the girl of my dreams!”

Van sat you at the small, round table in his kitchen as he prepared everything for the Mexican dinner. He filled bowls with lettuce and cheese and a strange mushroom mix he’d “invented, just for you ‘cause you said you don’t eat meat.” There was more and you watched as he danced his way around the neon light-lit room. “I went out and got them 'cause one of my favourite bars has some just like it. I love it there. Used to sit in the back room and just play a round with the lads. Have a drink and a smoke. Write a tune, you know what I mean? Had the right vibes. And now this kitchen does too.”

When the food was ready, Van poured drinks and sat at the table. The cocktail he put in front of you was delicious. You didn’t even know pink rum existed before that night. The glass dripped with condensation and as you slowly ran your finger down the side of it then brought the drop to your tongue, Van watched silently, falling more in love.

After tacos and after Van denied all requests to help him with the dishes, he took your hand and lead you to his backyard. The grass hadn’t been cut in a while. It was long enough that Little Mary could do zoomies through it and not be seen. There were just waves of moving green in her wake. You laid on your back, side by side with Van.

“Wish we was further out,” he said. “Could see the stars that way,”

“If you close your eyes then rub them, you can see those sparkly stars. You know the ones?”

“And do some permanent damage,” Van laughed. “Do you smoke?”

“You’ve already asked me that. And do you see the irony there?”

Van laughed, looking over at you. He reached across and poked your nose. “Not cigarettes, love. And yeah, but just one of them, innit?”

You watched as Van sat up and pulled a joint from his pocket. He held it up in a presentation to you, waiting for approval. Would he have lit it if you had declined?

“Yes. But, I’ve got an idea. Wait a sec,” you said, quickly sitting up then standing. You skipped through the grass and into the house. For a moment you considered cutting the cake, plating it nicely. But then, without much further thought, you picked up the entire cake and grabbed two forks from the top drawer. When you returned to the grass, placing the cake on the ground and giving Van a fork, he grinned.

“I fuckin’ like you, Y/N. Absolute quality,” he said.

The dope made you see the stars Van wanted you to see. Curled around each other on the cold ground, you felt warm and fuzzy. Both of you felt it in your heart of hearts that you’d found your soulmate. When you kissed him, you could taste sugar on his tongue. Sugar and smoke and orange.

…

“Yellow?” Van’s voice sounded confused. “Whadda mean she’s yellow?”

“Well… I took her for a walk in this park and there was these flowers. She looked real pretty, you know, like Instagram picture pretty. So, I let her off the lead and she did heaps of zoomies and the pollen on the flowers must’ve got on her…” you explained, looking at Mary, sitting in the bathtub waiting for you to do something about the state of her fur. Not an ideal way to start the dog sitting thing. After almost a year of dating, Van asked if you’d take Mary instead of his parents while he was gone. Jumping at the opportunity to be more to him, you said yes without thinking it through.

The phone line crackled. You could hear Van breathing. “Did she eat any of it?”

“No. I took her little doggo chocolate treats with us so I could bribe her into listening to me,”

“Well, guess it doesn’t matter then. Good luck giving her a bath though,” he said, followed by a small chuckle.

“She’s sitting in the bathtub alright,” you told him.

“Mmm… yeah. She loves baths. Don’t make it easy though. Look, honey bear, I gotta go. Take a photo of her for me, will ya?”

“Okay. I’m sorry,”

“Nah, don’t be. Little bit of flower power ain’t killed anyone. Love ya. Can’t wait for you to be out here with me. See ya real soon,” he said, his voice growing more distant as his attention shifted to whatever he was doing there, across the ocean on tour. You missed him.

“Okay. I love you too.”

Once you hung up, you looked at Mary again. She was tiny but with all the bright yellow pollen stuck to her brown fur, she kind of glowed and appeared much bigger. You took a couple of photos. Mary was used to that. There were countless selfies of her and Van. Only a small portion of them had found their way onto the internet too.

“Alright, doggo. Bath time.”

As stated by Van, bathing Mary was near impossible. She splashed around and around in the bath, running mini circles, chasing her own tail. Mud and pollen flicked up and coated all the surfaces of the bathroom. After ten minutes, you turned the tap off and waited for her to calm down. She watched you sit on the floor with your back to the vanity. Mary barked once. She said, “More!” and you knew it.

Van replied to your picture messages with the laughing emoji. You didn’t validate it with a response, instead decided to be more determined. “We’re doing this, Mary,” you told her, getting up and turning to tap on again. The brightness of the pollen stood out against Mary’s fur. It made it impossible to cut corners. “Christ. This is… I’m gonna… Van can… Why the absolute fuck does pollen have to be so Goddamn yellow?!”

…

“Green!”

“Again! Have we even had one red this entire time?!” Larry asked, his voice pitched raised a couple octaves with excitement and awe.

You leaned across Van to see through the front windscreen. Another green light. You’d been driving for three hours, and still yet to hit a red. The guys were pissing themselves with the luck of it. Only Bondy seemed dismayed, saying it was a bad omen. Of course, he couldn’t justify that with any explanation. Neither could anyone on Team Good Luck either though.

“It’s 'cause you’re here,” Van said to you quietly when you settled back in your seat. You looked over at him and rolled your eyes. “First time you’ve come with us and look what happens,”

“It’s just chance,”

“Sure. Right. Chance. Like… probability, or whatever? Maths. But even then, what are the odds?” he asked with a smug smile on his face.

From his shotgun seat, Larry twisted to look over at you and Van. “You reckon it’s her?” he asked Van.

“Her has a name,” you said.

“Don’t reckon. Know it is. My little good luck charm,” Van answered Larry, wrapping his arm around you and kissing the top of your head.

“Gross,” you protested, and pushed him off, resulting in him giggling and Larry turning back around.

“Did you guys know Y/N’s favourite colour is green?” Larry announced loudly. The overcrowded tour van erupted into further explanations of luck and probability, most of which borderlined on conspiracy theory and utter nonsense. You could feel Van trying to contain laughter.

After a couple of minutes, everyone got bored and moved onto other topics. Van rested his head on your shoulder and attempted to sleep, or at least rest. 

About half an hour later, you pulled into a gas station. At the counter inside you were tossing up between a strawberry shake or a lime.

“Jesus, Y/N! Gotta be lime. You’ll curse us otherwise,” Lou said, joining you at the counter. You were a second away from asking what he was even doing on the tour but realised just as quickly that he had just as much right as you.

“You right, honey bear? What are ya doing?” Van asked, coming out of nowhere, wrapping himself around you from behind.

“Milkshake,” you answered, pressing back into him. So warm. Solid. Safe.

“What can I get ya, sweetheart?” the woman behind the counter asked.

“Hi. Can I have a lime thickshake, please?”

Lou laughed. “It’s ‘cause her favourite colour’s green.”

…

Blue was always the first thing you saw in the mornings. The way the sun rays filtered in as shadows cast a navy darkness across the room. No matter where your eyes focused first, it was always blue. If Van was awake, waiting for you, it was that dazzling crystal blue. He was asleep though. That was normal. You tended to fall asleep and wake up first.

The room smelt musky. Dust from the boxes of old records and photo albums that Van borrowed from his parents. Melted wax and burnt out wicks. Stale and bitter tea, left to dry in the bottom of china cups. Sex and tears and laughter and spit. Maybe when you got out of bed you’d open a window… let some fresh air in. It was cold out though, and Van seemed to like cosy, even if it meant stuffy.

“Mornin’,” a voice croaked from somewhere under the blankets.

His legs moved first. They snaked their way over to yours and twisted around them. Once he did that, he had you. Full anaconda. Dragged under the blankets with him, you giggled as he tickled you everywhere. It didn’t matter if you screeched his name or kicked and punched, Van easily continued tickling. He’d stop if you asked him too, but you never would.

When you were both exhausted, you found your way out of the nest of blankets and sat up against the headboard.

“What’s on today?” he asked. It didn’t matter that you had just returned from tour. He needed to be doing something all the time. It had been your first tour though. You were exhausted.

“Uh, sleep,” you replied in a snarky tone.

“Nah, honey bear. Can’t waste our lives sleeping. I was thinkin’ maybe we could drop by your place and bring a few more boxes of stuff here?”

Technically, you weren’t moving in with Van. That had never been said out loud by either of you. But, after the dates, the dog sitting, the tour, the year and a bit together… you’d just found yourself at his every single day. Your possessions kept finding their way to his too.

“My art stuff?” you asked, suddenly excited. You hadn’t painted in so long. You missed the smell and mess of it.

“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking too, 'cause we could set up the spare room for you. Across the hall from my studio so we could do our thing but, you know, be close,” Van explained. He’d evidently given it a lot of thought.

After crumpets and instant coffee, and a drive to your place, you stood in your bedroom with Van. Your housemate hadn’t been home and without them there, you felt no connection to the place.

“Think Cam minds?” Van asked as he too-gently put your art supplies into plastic shopping bags that had been thrown on the backseat of your car.

“Don’t think so,” you replied. “Who wouldn’t like to pay half rent but have a whole place to themselves?”

“I’d get lonely living by myself,”

“You do live by yourself,” you said automatically.

Van went still, aside from a tapping foot. “About that…” He moved across the room to wrap his arms around your waist. “Think you could do us a favour?”

“Maybe. Depends what it is,” you whispered back, pressing yourself into him.

“Move in with me. Look after the place while I’m gone. That kind of thing,”

“Oh, so, like, just 'cause it makes sense logistically?”

“Yeah. Save yourself some cash. Save me havin’ to find someone to look after Mary,” Van agreed with a casual shrug and a playful smile.

“All business,” you said, pressing your forehead to his chest. “No feelings,”

“Well, some feelings maybe.”

It was some time before you moved from that spot. You stayed still, hugged together, amused, excited, and in love. It was Van who first stirred. He squeezed you tighter then kissed the top of your head. In response, you moved too. You looked up at Van and ran a finger along his sharp jawline. His skin was rough with stubble. He smiled, causing shallow dimples to appear in his cheeks. After kissing each of them twice, left-right-left-right, you looked into his eyes. Dazzling crystal blue. 

…

“Indigo? That’s like purple, yeah?” Van asked, picking up a tube of acrylic paint and reading the label.

“Ah-huh. Dark purple, on the blue side rather than red side,” you answered.

Van had rolled his chair from the studio room to you. You wondered if he knew how much time he spent in there with you, just picking up brushes and running them along his arm and flicking through your sketchbooks. It seemed to be his new mindlessness activity.

“So… why are you painting me like that again?”

“Like what?”

“All bleedin’ and bruised,” Van answered, looking at your canvas. It was a work in process, but it was also clearly Van’s face with a black eye and split lip. “Should I be worried, honey bear? Read into it?”

“No, you shouldn’t. Just like painting these colours. And blood,” you answered casually.

“Should I be worried about that?” he laughed.

“Are all your songs true?”

He grinned as you stood up and came to stand before him. You held your hands up for his. With Van’s fingers threaded through yours, you squeezed and leaned forward, letting him hold you by the hands alone.

Van shook his head. “No. But I don’t write songs about you with a bloodied up face,”

“True. That would worry me,”

“Yeah. Dead weird thing to write about, that would be,”

“Mmm-hmm,” you agreed. Van kept you upright and let you swing back and forth on the spot. “Why you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he replied. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he involuntarily licked his lips. "You got paint on ya face. Flecks of it everywhere,” he said. Van waited for you to reply, but you didn’t. After a few beats, you simply shrugged. “Think you should probably clean up, yeah?” Again, you just shrugged. “Shower. I reckon.” Knowing what he wanted, you held back a smile and continued to rock on the spot. “Stop it,” he said suddenly, frowning.

“Stop what?” you asked.

“Stop that!” Van jumped up and grabbed you by the waist and threw you over his shoulder. You screamed in both surprise and fright. Nobody had ever tried to pick you up like that before. If they had, you wouldn’t have let them. But Van was already carrying you through the warm house like you weighed nothing. All that there was for you to do was hysterically giggle.

Van dropped you in the shower, holding you in the glass box with one hand and turning the tap on with the other. Cold water came pouring down on you; you screamed bloody murder. Before Van could get away, you pulled him under too. He did his best to not scream but his teeth started to chatter instantly.

“Fuck! That is cold!” He turned the hot on and very quickly the shower was comfortable. You looked at him with his flattened hair and stupid grin, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, baaaaaaaaby. Come 'ere.”

Van pulled you out of your wet clothes then rid himself of his. With your forehead pressed against his chest, you look down at the water draining away. There must have been more paint on you than you thought or maybe it was from your clothes, still piled in the corner in a wet mess.

“Look. Colour,” you said to Van, stepping back and pointing.

“Not just any colour,” Van replied. “Indigo.”

…

“Violet, you’re turning violet!” you yelled as you jumped onto Van’s lap and smooshed his cheeks together. “Open,” you ordered. Van opened his mouth and you scrunched your face up in response. The candy he was eating had turned his entire mouth a bright purply-pink. “These must be so bad for your teeth,”

“No worse than the smokes,” Van replied, going back to chewing. He put one arm around your waist, holding you close.

“Yeah… Probably should stop that too, hey?”

“I know, I know. I’m working on it. Gotta have some vices though,”

“Oh, Van. Ryan Evan McCann. Van. You, my love, have plenty of fucking vices,” you replied, smiling then moving to get off him.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?” Before you could get too far, Van was up and pulling you into a hug. He dramatically rocked you from side to side. “Go on then. List 'em,”

“Smoking. Drinking,”

“I drink like a normal person!” Van squealed. “Well… a normal person that’s got Irish blood,”

“You don’t eat a lot of vegetables,”

“Uh, I love Sunday roast. 'Tatoes. Some peassssss,” he argued, clearly offended.

“It don’t count when you smother it all in gravy! Um. Weed,”

“Is there even science that says weed is that bad for ya?” 

“Yes, Van. So, what does that make? Four. You hardly sleep. Don’t moisturise your pretty face,” you said, punctuating the last point with a kiss on his cheek.

“But I drink loads of water,” Van offered.

“You do. More than me. Not sure if that makes up for the rest,”

“I feel fine. And the girls on the internet says I look fine too.” The smirk in his voice was audible. He was holding in smug laughter.

“You’re getting way too big for your boots,”

“But you love me?” he asked, feigning an innocent ignorance. “And you want to marry me? Come on tour with me? Have a million of my babies?”

You laughed and pushed your way out of Van’s arms. “Maybe. Not with that mess,” you answered, pointing to his candy covered mouth.

Van shrugged and waltzed off to the bathroom to clean his face while you retreated to the kitchen to check on dinner. The room smelled like melted cheese. As you took the pizza out of the oven, wondering when Van managed to sneak extra pepperoni on his side, you could hear him chuckling.

“Vanana?!” you called out.

“Violet! I’ve turned violet!”

…

“Black. What a surprise,” you said deadpan.

“What?!” Van squeaked. He looked down at himself then back up at you. “I got a reputation to maintain 'ere, honey bear. Not gonna start wearing track pants now,”

“Oh my god, no. I don't… Why… Why would anyone want you to wear track pants? Christ. But you own other colours besides black, you know. Like that real nice burgundy one. Or any of the white button ups,”

“What if I get something on it?” Van asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you to pull his boots on.

“You’re not five-years-old. I’m sure you can maintain a clean shirt for a couple of hours,”

“Thought you knew me better than that. And besides, I thought you liked us in black?”

You leaned across and kissed him on the cheek before moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. By chance, the dress you had on was the one you knew to be Van’s favourite. He liked the material, which meant he spent a lot of time holding his palms over your thighs and back, touching however he could without stepping over the line of public decency.

“Y/N?”

“Huh? Yeah?” you responded, spinning on the spot.

“I’ll change if you want,” Van said too seriously. It hurt a little. Quickly, you walked to him and leaned down, kissing him sharply, deeply. As predicted, Van’s hands found the surface of your dress. He gripped your hips, pulling you into him. When your lips unlocked, you stood straight. Van pressed his face into your stomach, enjoying the feeling on his cheeks.

“I don’t want you to change, Van. Wear what you want. Be what you want, okay?” you whispered down to him, running your fingers through his freshly washed hair.

“I wanna be yours, honey bear,” he mumbled into you. It made you laugh, and you ruffled his hair in response.

“Cheesy! So cheesy, Van! Alright. We’re gonna be late,” you said, stepping away from Van and picking up your bag from the dressing table. “And for the record, you look real good in black.”

…

White had never really been your colour. While you didn’t have any particular aversion to it, you had always been drawn to a darker palette. However, the white you were wearing that day made your nose tingle and eyes water. You could hardly look at yourself in the mirror without fainting. A wedding dress. Your wedding dress. The dress that you would wear as you walked down the aisle towards Van. It was the stuff of midnight dreams and teenage-written stories.

“Alright. Happy, Y/N?” your maid of honour asked after fluffing the dress one last time. Everything was in place. Nothing left to do but walk.

When you and Van started to talk about marriage, about the wedding, you had expected him to err either towards hyper-traditional or all-out DIY takes on it. As it were, a middle ground was found and the aisle you walked was outside in botanic gardens close to where Van’s Irish family originated. A church on a hill overlooked the ceremony, but that was the only role given to it.

The grass was cold but dry, providing padding for your bare feet. The train of your dress followed along loyally, like you had with Van all these years and like he had with you for just as long. As soon as you came into sight, Van’s eyes followed your every movement. The world melted into nothingness around him. Nothing could distract him from you, glowing and bright.

You stood in front of him and smiled. His freckles somehow always seemed darker when he was in Ireland, like they knew where home was. As you said hello to your favourite spots on his face, he studied yours. Smiling was too monumental of a task for him though. There was nothing he could do with his expressions or his hands that could ever begin to represent how he felt. There was a giant ball of sunshine in his heart and it was getting hotter and bigger by the second. Any minute and he would explode.

“Hi,” you whispered to Van while the guests took their seats and the celebrant found her page.

Van took a deep breath in and exhaled through his nose. His lips were quivering, but he made them move anyway. “Hey, honey bear… For the record, you look real good in white.”


End file.
